


Watch Out That Bowtie

by ScrewedRiver



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrewedRiver/pseuds/ScrewedRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of one-shots about Eleven/River, all set after their wedding in the Doctor's timeline. Canon as at end series 6. Rated M for smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You are a bad girl, aren't you

“River!” he yelled in the general direction of the familiar smoke.

“Uh oh, an angry one,” she sighed to herself, but composed herself, cocking a hip and holding her gun loosely in the other hand. “Hello, Sweetie,” she said seductively, as the last of the smoke cleared.

She sauntered towards him, dropping her gun into its holster, and stopped in front of where he stood on the first stair.

“We just got married, and you go and nearly get yourself killed?” he whispered weakly, his eyes on his hands, folding and unfolding themselves in front of his chest.

He looked down, into her face, “I hate you.”

She flinched. It was quick; invisible to a human, but so very obvious to a Time Lord. She smiled softly, reaching up to straighten his bowtie. “You don’t.”

“I could.”

“But you don’t.”

“Good girl,” he smiled, tapping her nose with his finger, and jumping down of the step to land beside her. Turning, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her up the stairs towards the console.

“So, where to, Mrs Doctor? All of time and space is at our disposal!” he swung his free arm outward, as though to indicate the expanse of the universe.

She turned into him, then, pinning him against the TARDIS console, a hand at each hip, and her pelvis dangerously close to his.

“Why don’t we just…stay in?” she whispered, looking up at him through hooded eyes.

“Stay in?” he repeated, incredulously. “The whole of time and space at our disposal, River Song,” he continued, waving his arms about grandiosely, oblivious to the subtext of her suggestion, “and you want to just stay in?”

“Yes,” she said confidently, pushing her pelvis into his. 

“Oh.” He looked disappointed.

She glanced down at their hips, then back to his face, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh!” Realisation dawned, and he giggled nervously. “River Song, you bad, bad girl.”

“You love it,” she smiled, trailing her fingers across his lower back and revelling in the way he instinctively arched towards her as she did.

“I shouldn’t,” he threw back, brown hair falling over his eyes as he watched his hands sliding slowly up her sides, “Kinda do.”

“Kinda do?” Her tone was challenging.

“Really do,” he looked up, smiling mischievously, as his thumbs swept forward, brushing the underside of her breasts.

She arched into him with delight. “You know…” Her eyes darkened, and suddenly her lips were at his ear, her hot breath tickling his neck. “I’ve never seen your bedroom.”

He straightened up quickly, all business-like, dropping his arms from her sides. She made a small noise at the loss of contact, much like a puppy’s whine. He side-stepped her, and grinned, holding out his arm.

“We’ll certainly have to fix that, then, won’t we, Mrs Doctor?”

“Indeed, we will, Mr Song,” she threw back playfully, hooking her arm into his. She started forward, but was pulled back by his lack of movement. She turned to him.

“Mr Song?” he pouted.

“Mrs Doctor?” she countered.

“I suppose it’s better than Mr Archaeologist,” he muttered.

“Hey!” she poked him in the side playfully. “I have a gun, you know!”

He looked stricken for a second, then he frowned, glancing down at the offending weapon, hanging at her side. “Perhaps we should leave this here,” he said as he reached and pulled it out of its holster and laid it carefully on the TARDIS console. “We don’t want to have any…accidents.”

“You’re far too queasy around guns, sweetie,” she chided, regarding him with amusement.

“Yes, well, they’re silly things, made for killing!” he waved his arms around, in that endearing way he always did when he was prattling. “Stupid thing, killing; should be avoided as much as possible, I say. Except,” he glanced at her quickly, “when necessary, of course …” He trailed off, frowning.

After a moment, she grew impatient. They were not having this argument again. She had done what needed to be done to keep him alive.

She grabbed his hand, now hanging limply at his side, and tugged it gently, “Weren’t we going somewhere, dear?”

He tugged her back, pulling her flush against him, one hand holding hers, and the other at her hip. “Not so fast, River Song,” he said, authority suddenly in his voice.

His hand trailed slowly down her leg, as he nibbled his way along her collarbone. She threw her head back to give him more access, and gripped his shoulder. He wrapped his arm firmly around her lower back and nibbled his way up the side of her neck, as his hand travelled slowly up the outside of her leg.

“Two guns?” he growled, suddenly, in her ear, as he pulled the second gun from its holster on her thigh, “Oh you are a bad girl, aren’t you?”

He threw the second gun aside roughly, and pulled her holstered-leg up, hooking her knee around his hip and sucking hard at the base of her neck.

Her free hand shot to his hair, and she lost her fingers in his mop of brown hair as his hand continued its path up her leg. As his fingers came into contact with the small amount of black lace beneath her dress, she pulled his mouth from her neck by his hair, and tightened her leg around him.

“Show me your bedroom,” she gasped, “and I’ll show you just how bad I am.”


	2. You're going to pay for that

"Oh. Oh, River. You do get your feistiness from your mother, don't you?"

In a flash of blonde curls, she flicked her head up suddenly, from its position on his navel, and she glared at him.

"You did not just mention my mother in bed!"

"I – oh – I – umm."

He was having difficulty forming a coherent sentence; it was impossible for him not to be distracted by how sexy she looked in that very moment: all honey-coloured skin, on her hands and knees over him, her back arched, and her breasts hanging there, swaying deliciously. Her wild curls framed her face perfectly, and her green eyes flashed dangerously.

She bent low, her hair falling forward, forming a curtain around their faces, her nipples grazing his shoulders as she nipped at his neck and growled, "You're going to pay for that."

She dipped, so the swell of each of her breasts was on either side of his face, and smirked as he took one in each hand, massaging each, and pressing them together, with his face in between.

She smirked again, as his mouth joined his hands on her breasts, and she reached behind her, searching for the handcuffs.

She found them quickly; she had taken them from the pocket of her dress, and hidden them just under the covers to her right, just in case. Expertly, she snapped each cuff onto a wrist, taking advantage of his closed eyes as he lost himself in her breasts.

His eyes snapped open as he heard the click of the cuffs, and he was glaring up at her, a hand still on each breast.

She sat up, smiling triumphantly. "I told you I'd make you pay, sweetie."

"And smothering me with your glorious breasts wasn't enough?"

"You like that!"

He smiled wickedly. "And who says I don't like the handcuffs?"

She rolled her eyes. "Reverse psychology won't work on me, my love," she tapped her temple with the tip of her finger. "Mind of a Time Lord, remember?"

"Time Lady," he corrected.

"Hardly," she added.

"Oh?"

"Would a lady do this?" she shot him a wicked grin before sliding down his body until she was straddling his thighs. Leaning forward, she captured his half-hard length in her cleavage, pushed her breasts together, and moved up and down, along his length, enjoying the feeling of him growing harder and harder between her breasts.

She stopped when he bucked his hips, kissed the sensitive head of his member quickly, and then looked up at him.

"No, probably not," he choked out, between heavy, ragged breaths.

She nuzzled his tip with her nose, and laughed wickedly as he bucked towards her again. "Patience, my love," she chastised.

He only groaned, and reached down to place his still-handcuffed hands on either side of her face. He looked at her pleadingly, as his member pulsated with desire.

She met his gaze with a small smile, and eyes filled with an overwhelming mixture of devotion and desire. Her look sent a surge of pure need throughout his body, and he whimpered weakly, his hands dropping from her face, and his head dropping back against the pillows, as she realised his need, and wrapped her breasts around his hard cock once again, dragging them up and down the length of him a few times, before taking him in her mouth.

She moved expertly, up and down the length of his hard member, with just the right amount of pressure, tongue and teeth. Her hands played gently around her workspace, alternating between stroking the curls at his base, and tickling the sack of skin below, as she worked.

His hands were buried in her curls the whole time, and he had to force himself not to thrust into her mouth. When he knew he was nearly there, nearly over the edge, he pulled at her hair to pull her off him, but she reached back and took her hands from her hair, placing them above her head, on his navel, and intertwined her fingers with his as he exploded into her mouth, and she was swallowing it all, and humming around him, sending wonderful feelings to every part of his being.

He was weak from his orgasm, but he didn't care; he pulled her up by their intertwined hands, and pulled her face to his roughly, hooking the chain of the handcuffs behind her neck as he kissed her urgently, and groaned at the new taste in her mouth; his taste.

He rolled them, so she was pinned beneath him, and trailed kisses down her neck.

"Really, again?" she asked, rolling her neck to the side so he had more room to work, "Already?"

He sat up, straddling her stomach, his hands caught behind her head because of the handcuffs. "Stamina of a Time Lord," he grinned, glanced down at his rapidly hardening cock, and looking up at her seductively through his mop of messy brown hair.

She propped herself up on her elbows to get a better look at him, "Oh, is that so?" she smiled widely. "Are there any other special Time Lord Bedroom abilities about which you want to tell me?"

He moved his hands from their prison behind her head and held his cuffed wrists in front her face.

"If you would be so kind as to remove these restraints from my wrists, I can show you, instead of merely telling you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedbacks?


	3. Suspenders are cool

He heard the familiar sound of the vortex manipulator, and heard her high heels clicking against the metal floors of the TARDIS, as she walked towards him.

"I went to see them on Christmas," he said, without turning around. His voice was hoarse from lack of use.

He was seated under the console, having abandoned his endeavour to add a new feature to his screwdriver each day, which he had started in order to occupy his mind, and his time, because most of the universe believed he was dead.

In fact, most of the universe believed that this woman was the one who had killed him; the woman who had most likely broken out of prison to see him tonight, the woman to whom he was married, the woman he loved.

She moved to stand close behind him, hands moving gently against his face and neck, relaxing him. He closed his eyes and leaned back against her stomach. For a few minutes, they could hear only the sound of their beating hearts, until she spoke.

"I had to tell them." Her pain was clear; she was pleading with him to understand. "She was so ruined at the thought of you being dead. Rory, too. They're my parents, Doctor; I had to."

He sighed, leaning back into her further. "Of course they were; the girl who waited, and Rory the Roman." He spun around slowly, to face her, "It's okay, River, I understa –" He stopped short, startled at the sight of her, and fell backwards out of his hammock-like seat.

He stared up at his wife in shock, through his feet which were still caught in the seat hanging from the bottom of the TARDIS console.

"R-r-river! What – what're you – " he swallowed, as he began to feel an all-too-familiar tightening in his pants.

She just grinned down at him.

"What're you wearing?" he finally choked out.

Really, this was a stupid question on his part. He could see exactly what she was wearing, and it wasn't much: a black corset with red trimming and with straps hooked deliciously to lace-topped stockings. A tiny G-string covered the place he most wanted to bury himself, and on her feet were painfully high heels in a brilliant red.

He raked his eyes back up her body, from her toes to her face, bright with love for the man still lying in shock on the floor before her.

"Hello, sweetie," she purred, shaking her head slightly, and making her wild blonde curls bounce wonderfully around her face. With that, she turned and began what could only be described as a strut towards their bedroom.

The Doctor scrambled up off the floor and followed her, eyeing the wiggle of her butt hungrily, and shedding his clothes as he walked.

She turned to face him when she reached the end of the bed, and immediately fell forward in a fit of laughter at the sight of her husband, standing a metre from her, wearing nothing but his bowtie, one sock, and with his suspenders hooked to his underwear.

"Is something funny, River?" he grinned, advancing on her slowly.

"Your – your suspenders!" she cried, through fits of laughter.

"Well, you've got suspenders holding something up; it was only fair!" he huffed, frowning like a scolded child.

"Mm, that's not the only thing that's up, is it, sweetie?" she cut back, quickly regaining her composure, and reaching out to stroke his obvious erection. She smiled cheekily as he jerked forward in surprise. His eyes narrowed, and darkened with lust, before he pushed, almost threw, her roughly back onto the bed, and crawled towards her hungrily.

She reached up and grabbed his head, capturing his mouth in an urgent kiss, as he lay on top of her. As their tongues battled for dominance, he tangled one hand in her hair and stroked her lightly through her underwear, growing harder as the heat between her legs increased significantly.

He wrenched his lips from hers, and traced a line of kisses down her neck, before placing one on the swell of each breast, teasing her through her underwear all the while.

"Doctor," she gasped, gripping his hair as he turned his attention to sucking on her pulse point. "Need. You. Now."

He didn't need telling twice. Quickly pushing the small, soaking wet bit of material to the side, he pushed two fingers into her wet opening, loving the feeling of her slick walls around him. He pulled his face back from hers so he could watch her face contort with pleasure as he pumped in and out.

"Do you want me to add another finger, my River?" he whispered softly, nipping at her ear. All she could manage in response was a small nod, and a tug of his hair, in which her fingers were firmly intertwined. He leaned in to kiss her again as he added a third finger, and groaned in pleasure as she moaned into his mouth.

She bit his bottom lip and arched her back, to let him know she was nearly there. He gently pulled back from her face, again, wanting to see her face as he brought her to orgasm.

As he lay next to her on his side, absentmindedly fiddling with the lace of her stockings while she regained her breath, something occurred to him.

When he turned his eyes on her, the pain was evident in his expression. She placed a hand over each of his hearts, feeling their steady rhythm, and touched her forehead to his.

"Amy and Rory," he whispered. "My best friends, my –"

"Parents-in-law?" She laughed.

"They waited, River," his voice was sad and serious, and she instantly regretted joking with him. "Two years, just waiting for me to come and see them."

"Better than two years thinking you're dead, and mourning you," she protested softly.

He conceded to that, and the both lay back, she curled into his side, one of his hands tracing Gallifreyan symbols on her arm, as it draped over him. They were silent for some time, until she broke it.

"Amy said something interesting to me that night," she began.

He made a noise, indicating that she should continue.

"She was shaken about having killed Kovarian in cold blood, and when I tried to reason that it happened in an aborted timeline, in a universe that never was, she said, that because she can remember it, it happened."

He waited for her to gather her thoughts. He had a suspicion about where she was going with this line of questioning. After a short pause, she continued.

"We got married in that same timeline," she said, in a small voice. He smiled into her hair, and fought back a laugh. Yes, this was exactly where he thought she was going with this.

He sighed, and pulled her on top of him, cradling her face in his hands. "River Song, Melody Pond, my bespoke psychopath, the woman who killed the doctor, hell in high heels, the biggest spoiler in a universe with only one Time Lord left," he looked deep into her eyes, and smiled warmly, "Aborted timeline or not, you are my wife. Your mother is right. Don't tell her I said so, of course, but she is."

River grinned wickedly. "If we got married in an aborted timeline, as time itself collapsed around us, doesn't that mean that we got married at every point in time, at the same time?"

"It does," he replied, with a small smile. Once again, he had a suspicion about where she was going with this.

"So then, every night is our wedding night?"

He nodded. Oh, yes, that is exactly where he hoped she was going with this.

"Well, then, Doctor," she grinned, straddling his thighs. "What are we doing talking?"


	4. Diaries

There she stood, the wild blonde curls he loved so much, moving gently with the coastal breeze from behind her, with one hand on her hip, and the other clenched tightly around her diary, her TARDIS blue diary.

Her almost new TARDIS blue diary.

He studied her face; less lines, meaning less worry.

He studied her expression; playful affection, instead of deep affection.

He studied her eyes; very little pain clouding them.

She was young. Oh, so young.

It was odd for him, seeing her like this, so young, having not less than an hour ago had a certain part of him buried deep inside her, and again, and again, and –– he shook his head, mentally filed that train of thought under 'think about late tonight', and pulled his mind back to the present.

He stepped towards her, smiling, withdrawing his own, slightly more worn, diary from his jacket as he went. "Shall we do diaries, then?"

"Is that what this thing is, then?" she asked, holding up the blue book, and flipping it open to reveal the clean, untouched pages.

As he moved closer; he could see the confusion in her eyes. She was younger than he had originally thought.

"River, when was the last time you saw me?" he asked softly.

"Berlin," she whispered, the confusion turning to pain. "Doctor, I'm sor –"

"No, River," he cut her off, rushing to her and gathering her in his arms, pulling her close. "Don't apologise. You were programmed to do it, raised to do it, trained and conditioned to kill me; it had to be you. It will always be you," he murmured into her hair.

She pulled back at his last words, frowning, but he simply smiled and planted a quick kiss to the tense muscles between her eyebrows, and whispered, "Spoilers".

"I hate that word," she complained.

He smiled, remembering his own frustration at her older self, "I know how you feel."

She gently extricated herself from his arms, and grabbed his free hand, pulling him along the beach with her. "So, what is this book, Doctor?"

He walked with her, allowing her to keep her loose hold of his hand. "It's a diary. You and I, River, it's all jumbled up. We never meet in the right order. So to keep track, whenever you see me, you record it in your diary. That way, you have a record of what you've done, and so do I. Then every time we meet, we sync up our diaries, so we know where we are."

"Seems simple enough," she smiled.

"Oh, believe me, it isn't," he laughed.

She met his gaze with a questioning look.

"Spoilers!" he called back, in a sing-song voice. He started to laugh at the look of annoyance on her face, but quickly stopped as something hard collided with his forehead. "Ow!" he whined, holding his head, as she collapsed onto the sand in a fit of giggles.

He leaned down to pick up the offending weapon. "Diaries aren't for throwing, River," he scolded her, plonking himself down to sit in the sand next to where she now lay.

"So Doctor, what brings you here, to Melamtory, 1585?" she asked after a moment, propping herself up on one elbow.

Stretching out, he mimicked her position in the sand, facing her. "I've had to take a break for a while, lay low, and what better place to lie low than Melamtory, the beach planet itself?"

She frowned, "You're lying."

"I –what – how did you – no – River, I'm not lying!" he spluttered.

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief, challenging him.

He let out a frustrated breath. "The TARDIS brought me here. Sometimes she just does that. She takes me where I need to go, instead of where I want to go," he muttered.

She lay back in the sand, closing her eyes and folding her hands together on her stomach, her brilliant hair framing her peaceful face. "And where did you want to go?" she asked

He gave a short laugh. He had wanted to go to the Stormcage, make hot, passionate love to his wife in the corridor outside her cell, and then run back to the TARDIS and disappear just as the prison guards came running in response to the sounds of River's screams…but he couldn't very well tell all that to such a young version of her. He decided to be as honest as possible, "To see you," he said.

She smiled widely at this, but said nothing. Her eyes were still closed, for which he was glad, because he felt an all-too-familiar tightening in his pants, at the thought of his intentions for his trip. He could feel the heat in his face rising from the embarrassment, and thought it best to change the subject.

"So why are you here, River?"

She smiled cheekily. "Oh, me? I stole a vortex manipulator a couple of months ago, and thought it was about time to take it out for a spin."

"River! Stealing is wrong!"

Her eyes snapped open, "Oh, really, Doctor? And how did you come to own a Type 40 TARDIS?"

"Hey! That was different!" he protested.

"Whatever you say, sweetie," she smiled, flashing him a fond smile, and closing her eyes once more.

"So are you enjoying archaeology, River?"

"Yes, it's wonderful! I love it."

He laughed. He didn't want to ruin her spirits by divulging his true feelings on her chosen profession, so instead he asked another question, "Have you found what you were looking for?"

At this, she smiled softly, turning her head to face him, opening her eyes, "He found me, on a vacant beach on Melamtory."

He looked around quickly, "Really? Where is he?" he asked, faux-concerned.

She laughed, sitting up and hitting him playfully in the arm with her diary.

"Hey! What did I say about using that thing to hurt me?"

She shook her head, laughing her musical laugh, and leaned towards him, "Oh shut up," she muttered, before capturing his lips in hers, and pushing him back in the sand.

Their tongues slid gently over one another, and she moved carefully, to place a knee either side of his hips. He moaned into her mouth as the inside of her thigh unexpectedly made contact with the growing bulge in his pants. He suddenly remembered her age, and pulled back, cupping her face in his hands, "I can't. River, you're too young," he said sadly.

"Hey, you started it, mister wandering hands!" she protested.

He stared at her, confused.

"Find River Song and tell her something from me," she mimicked his words from Berlin, then smiled mischievously. "Thought you'd cop a quick feel, did you?"

"Hey, I was dying!" he protested, reaching up and cupping a hand around one of her breasts, just as he had done in Berlin.

"And what's your excuse this time, sweetie?" she glanced down at his hand, now massaging her breast, and shot him a challenging look.

"Do I need one?" he shot back, reaching the other hand up to cup her other breast.

"Not really," she smiled, leaning down to kiss him again.


	5. I wanted to come here, to you

He knew it was late, and he didn't want to wake her, so he turned off the TARDIS's brakes and landed quietly in the corridor of Stormcage, near her cell. Following his usual routine, he checked the scanner for guards, crept silently out of the TARDIS, pulling his sonic from the pocket of his tweed, and pointed it expertly at the security cameras and then the lock on her cell door.

He closed the door quietly behind him. He could just make out her form, lying on her side in her cot, her back to him, asleep. As quietly as he could, he slipped out of his shoes and his tweed, and climbed in next to her, his body following the shape of hers, and his arm snaking around the top of her, and pulling her back, into him.

"Hello, sweetie," she mumbled sleepily, as he pressed a kiss into the side of her neck. "Where are you coming from?"

"To be honest, wife, I just had a nice little snogging session on a beach in Melamtory with a lovely young woman," he whispered, trailing kisses along her jawline.

"Really, you just did Melamtory?" she laughed, turning in the small bed to face him, a little more awake now.

He nodded, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him.

"I always wondered where in your timeline you were at Melamtory," she said, sitting up on his hips and sliding his suspenders down his arms. "You were so cautious, yet so sure, with me."

"Mm," he responded, eyeing her breasts hungrily. She had on no bra, and it was a rather cold night; the resulting visibility of her nipples through the thin material of her singlet was causing an uncomfortable tightening in his trousers.

"Where did you want to go?" she asked, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

"Hmm?" he asked, sliding his hands up the backs of her thighs, and into the skimpy shorts she was wearing. He gasped, when his fingers came into contact with her wet folds. He felt around a bit, enjoying the feeling of her wetness on his fingers, and the way she arched her back in anticipation, because his fingers were so close to where she wanted them.

"No underwear," he growled, removing one of his hands from her shorts, and bringing it to his mouth, licking her wetness from the tips of his fingers, as the other hand teased her inner folds, revelling in the hot, stickiness he found there.

He removed his other hand from her shorts, and she grabbed it quickly, redirecting his fingers into her mouth, as she sucked her own juices from his fingers.

He groaned at the sight, "That's my girl," he smiled, pulling her to him, and kissing her passionately, moaning into her mouth at the taste of her, still on her tongue.

Pushing her hips off him slightly, he broke the kiss to remove his clothes.

"At Melamtory you said you had wanted to go somewhere else, but the TARDIS had brought you there instead," she asked, as he undressed himself. "Where had you wanted to go?"

He smiled at her, as he wiggled out of his pants, and lay back down. "I wanted to come here, to you."

She smiled lovingly, and bent down to kiss him again. When she pulled away, she dropped her shorts teasingly on his face. He was surprised; he hadn't noticed her take them off, but that thought was lost when he inhaled. He groaned at the smell, and the dampness of the material. His hands flew immediately to her core, not even bothering to remove her shorts from their position obscuring his vision. He touching her swollen bud ever so slightly, and smiled when she gasped, and dug her nails into his chest.

Not wanting to get too ahead of themselves, he abandoned her clit, and stroked gently, teasingly, at her wet folds, then moving to circle her entrance slowly. He pulled her shorts off his face, and looked up at his wife, kneeling over him wearing nothing but a thin singlet. She was moaning as he teased her entrance, and getting wetter, he could feel, as he did.

He moved his hand from her entrance, and gripped her bum, as she leaned forward and reached behind herself. He growled as he realised what she was doing. She moaned in pleasure as she pumped a finger in and out of herself, and ground down on him, rubbing her clit against his balls. He watched hungrily as her breasts bounced this way and that, inches from his face.

He was so hard now, and the lack of relief was beginning to hurt. He reached down between them, took hold of his penis, and began pumping rapidly. With his other hand, he reached around her, and pulled her hand away, replacing her finger with two of his own, entering and exiting her fiercely. She moaned loudly, and arched her back, both her hands flat against his chest, as she continued to rub her clit against his balls.

He opened his mouth expectantly, glancing down at her hand, and she quickly pushed her wet finger into his mouth. Groaning at the taste of her, he lost his rhythm of his pumping – both on his own cock, and in and out of his wife, but regained it quickly, as her hands returned to his chest, and she arched her back again.

He felt her clench around him, and he knew she was close. She must have known it, too, because she slid her hands forward, and gripped his shoulders, grinding herself more quickly against him, before she was coming around him, screaming, and then and – Time love her – using what little strength she had left to shift her position, and rub her wet folds against his cock, sending him over the edge, as he exploded onto her stomach.

She collapsed on top of him, and he pulled her close, both heaving and satisfied.

"Yes," he mumbled, into her hair, "This is definitely where I wanted to go."


	6. Wife, I have a request

She was cuffed, and marched by four of them down the corridors of the eternally raining, cold and dismal prison. It was odd for her, being the one who was cuffed and controlled. She didn’t like it at all, but she didn’t fight it. She would have her fun with the guards eventually, but not tonight. Tonight was for thinking about her future.  
  
She knew the Doctor had had adventures with her, which she had not yet had. That meant she wouldn’t be in her cell all the time; at least from the perspective of her time stream. She would live for those moments; she knew it from the moment they stopped her in front of her cell, and she looked inside her official place of residence for the next however-many-years. But she knew her heart would always reside elsewhere.  
  
She had not listened at her trial, really. She knew, from what the Doctor said to her, that it was part of her future, to be in prison for his murder. She didn’t want to change whatever experiences her future-self had had with his past-self. Those experiences had made him love and trust her enough to marry her. And divulge his greatest secret to her on the top of that pyramid. And kiss her like that. He’d said he’d make it a good one and boy had he done just that.  
  
Of course, next thing she knew after that, she was standing on the shores of Lake Silencio, in the middle of nowhere, in Utah, shooting down the man – or what looked like the man – she loved, while a future version of herself, well-acquainted with this very cell on which she now gazed, and her parents, watched.  
  
She shook the thought from her head. She knew he was alright, that he was alive, that what she’d shot wasn’t really him. But oh, it had looked so much like him; the look on his face as he died, and the look on his face, as he lay there in the sand, they had broken her hearts.  
  
She stepped into her cell, without protest, and didn’t turn as a guard uncuffed her, or when she heard the sound of the cell door sliding closed behind her, and the lock being fastened. She knew there was a way out. She just had to wait for her husband.  
  
She sighed, as she walked to her bed. She knew she would be doing an awful lot of that, in the future; a lot of sitting around in that dismal cell, waiting for him; waiting for her doctor. She laughed at the irony; she truly was her mother’s daughter: always waiting for her precious doctor.  
  
She sat on the edge of the small prison cot, and bent down to unlace her boots. She took her time; she knew she had a lot of it, after all. Closing her eyes, she lay back on the bed, and deftly unbuttoned her shirt, kicking off her now-unlaced shoes and exhaling in frustration.  
  
“Wife, I have a request,” said a voice from beside the bed.  
  
Her eyes flew open, and she sat up abruptly, to see him standing in front of her, his eyes darkened with lust, as he gazed down on her, sitting before him with her shirt unbuttoned, revealing her lacy black bra and toned stomach.  
  
“Make hot, passionate love to me,” he growled, pouncing on her, pushing her back onto the bed. He grabbed her wrists, pinning her hands above her head. Bending down, he kissed her roughly, grinding his hips into hers, as she groaned into his mouth at the feeling of his hardness pushing against her. “Make me scream, River; make me come again and again,” he whispered against the skin of her neck, as he nibbled his way down from her ear.  
  
He let go of her wrists, and cupped her face, looking deep into her eyes, “And I will do the same for you, my River. I will make love to you, I will make you scream, again, and again.”  
  
She smiled up at him, holding his hips and rotating her pelvis slowly, feeling his hardness rubbing against her, and smiling wickedly, as he screwed his eyes shut, and groaned, a deep, throaty sound. “While that sounds like a wonderful way to spend our wedding night, my love, I have one question.” He looked at her, quizzically, able to form facial expressions now that she had stopped moving her hops against his. “Can we do it in the amazing bedroom I’m sure Sexy has conjured up for us?”  
  
“Oo!” His eyes lit up like a child’s after being offered a new toy. He rolled off her, and grabbed her hand, pulling her off the bed, bouncing up and down with excitement. She grinned at him; he was quite a sight, standing in the middle of an intergalactic prison cell, with his childlike excitement and his very noticeable erection.  
  
He clicked his fingers and the part of the control room that could be seen through the door of the TARDIS appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He turned to her, grinning like a schoolboy with a good grade on his maths test, “I made her invisible, and I turned off her brakes, so I could surprise you!”  
  
His smile faltered when he was met with a blank look from his wife. “Hmm, I suppose you’re too young to know why you should be pleased about that,” he frowned quickly, before brightening, “But no matter! Bedroom! Geronimo!” he squeaked excitedly, half-walking, half-skipping into the TARDIS, as his wife followed him, shaking her head and smiling.  
  
They made their way quickly, through the winding corridors of the TARDIS, opening doors and peaking in; library, library with swimming pool, Amy and Rory’s old bedroom (with bunk beds), Amy and Rory’s new bedroom (sans bunk beds), the Doctor’s office (“It’s not on a train, but it does the job,” he sighed), arts and crafts room (“never get in there as much as I would like,” he remarked, wistfully), bowties room (“Really? A whole room just for bowties?” she shook her head), the Doctor’s bedroom (“Oh God, I’m in love with a nine-year-old!” she laughed, at the sight of his racing car bed), River’s bedroom (“TARDIS blue!” he exclaimed, squeezing her hand and stooping to kiss her forehead). Finally, they reached their destination.  
  
When he pushed open the door, they both gasped. The room was perfect: TARDIS blue walls, furnished with a sturdy bed, dressing table, and side tables, all in rich mahogany, and a glass ceiling that projected a view of the expanse of the universe.  
  
The Old Girl was obviously incredibly pleased with the nuptials of her Thief and her daughter; she had gifted each their own walk-in-wardrobe, which they each explored with childlike excitement. The Doctor’s contained a multitude of each-as-horrid-as-the-last tweed jackets, suspenders in every colour imaginable, and a door with a psychic link to the bowties room, while River’s was stocked with just the right mixture of beautiful evening gowns, short cocktail dresses, practical jodhpurs and cotton t-shirts, and a large assortment of gun belts and holsters, which turned the Doctor on in ways he would never admit.  
  
“Hey Sweetie?” River called out, through the door of her wardrobe.  
  
“Yes, River?” came his reply.  
  
“You know how you made that request?” She spoke seductively, as she pushed the door open, and stepped carefully into the bedroom, grinning widely at the way his eyes bulged out of his head and his hands flew to cover his groin at the sight of her in nought but her lacy black bra, and a gun belt slung low around her hips.  
  
He had obviously been halfway through undressing himself, as he was perched on the end of the bed, facing her, with no shirt, his bowtie hanging, undone, around his neck, and his pants around his ankles. He gulped as she advanced on him, and scrambled back onto the bed, kicking off his pants, trousers and socks as he went. She crawled seductively onto the TARDIS blue silk bedspread after him, her eyes never leaving his.  
  
“Wife,” he swallowed. “I have a confession.”  
  
“Yes, sweetie?” she purred. She was kneeling over him, so the gun belt was no longer concealing anything.  
  
He tore his eyes away from there, and looked into her eyes, smiling. “You’re the sexiest, most beautiful woman in the entire universe.”  
  
She laughed musically. “Oh, I know, honey,” she winked.  
  
“So wife, I have a request.” His fingertips ghosted delicately up the back of her body, from her thighs, all the way to her head to bury in her hair, ridding her of her gun belt and her bra, as he went.  
  
He hooked his legs around hers, and looked into her eyes.  
  
“Fuck me,” he whispered.  
  
And she did just that.


	7. A whole new use for psychic paper

"Well that was fun!" Amy exclaimed, collapsing onto a chair.

"Yeah, loads of fun," Rory muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes and plonking himself down next to his wife, leaning his head back against the railing. "I just love near-death experiences!"

"Oh, shut your stupid face, or we'll send you back to Leadworth, won't we, Doctor?" Amy looked across the control room towards her best friend, for support.

"Oh – umm – well," He stuttered, flailing his arms and glancing nervously around the room. Suddenly, he felt something burn against his chest, and was glad for the escape excuse. "Sorry, I've got mail!" he called excitedly, patting his breast pocket, before shuffled down the ramp, leaving Amy and Rory bickering behind him.

He sat in the hammock-like chair below the TARDIS console, where he usually sat to make adjustments and tinker with her wires, and pulled the psychic paper from the pocket of his tweed.

_Hello, Sweetie_

He smiled to himself.

_I hope you're alone_

He glanced around nervously. He could still hear Amy and Rory arguing above him.

_I'm alone, Doctor; so alone. Do you know why, Doctor?_

He frowned. What did she mean?

_There's no one else in the room, and I'm naked._

He gulped.

_Even my clothes have left me. Do you like that, Doctor?_

He nodded eagerly, though he knew she couldn't see him.

_Sometimes, when you can't be here, but I want you here, I do things, Doctor._

"Oh, that woman," he muttered, glancing desperately down at his trousers, which were becoming uncomfortably tight.

_Naughty things, Doctor. And I think about you the whole time._

He groaned, rubbing himself through his trousers, with his free hand.

_I'm lying back in my bed, and one of my fingers is stroking my folds lightly._

He rubbed faster.

_And I'm wet, Doctor. Oh, so wet. I can feel the heat, as I push apart my folds and my fingertip circles my entrance slowly._

He unzipped his trousers, shoving his hand inside his pants, and gripping his hard cock tightly.

_I push one finger inside, and my walls are slippery and wet. I pull out, and push back in again._

He began pumping his cock slowly, imagining her lying there, pleasuring herself, and wishing it was him, touching her. He wished it was him, too.

_And again; in, and out, in and out; over and over; and then I think, my Doctor would want me to add another finger, wouldn't he?_

He groaned his agreement, and pumped himself faster.

_With two fingers, it's tighter, but so good. I'm getting wetter. Oh and my back is arching and I'm panting harder._

He used his other hand to pull down his pants, so he was less restricted.

_I use my thumb to play with my clit and oh, Doctor, it feels so good. I'm getting so close._

He continued pumping, fast; he was nearly there.

_And now I'm clenching around my fingers and coming all over them, and I'm flicking my clit, and screaming. You know how I scream, Doctor. You remember, don't you?_

He kept pumping. He was so close.

_I pull my fingers out and put them in my mouth, Doctor, because I know how much you love it when I do that. You love the sounds I make when I taste myself._

He did. And he came, then, exploding into his other hand, at the image of River, sucking her wetness from her fingers, and groaning in pleasure the way he knew she did when she tasted herself.

He dropped the psychic paper to the floor, and reach for the tissues he always kept under the console. Usually they were for cleaning his fingers from grease after he'd been tinkering with the console, but today it was from a whole different kind of tinkering. Once he'd cleaned his spunk from his hands, he put himself back in his pants and re-buttoned his trousers.

He picked up the psychic paper from the floor, as he made his way up the ramp, calling goodnight to the Ponds as he went. He automatically walked to the bedroom he shared with River; he had taken to sleeping there even when she wasn't with him, hopeful that she would turn up in the middle of the night while he slept, and he would wake up beside her in the morning, and if he wasn't that lucky, glad that the smell of her shampoo always lingered on her pillow.

When he opened the door, he was startled to see her lying in bed, reading a book. She looked up when he entered.

"Hello, Sweetie," she smiled, closing her book, placing it on her side table, and slipping out of the bed. He grinned, kicking off his shoes, and sliding out of his tweed, as she padded towards him, completely naked.

"You're quite the inventor, aren't you, Doctor Song?" he chuckled, kissing her forehead, as she helped him unbutton his shirt.

"I don't know what you mean, Sweetie?"

Damn, she was a good actress. "You just invented a whole new use for psychic paper!"

She appeared genuinely surprised. She was a better actor than he'd thought. "I did?"

"Timey wimey phone sex!" he giggled excitedly, "And you know what, River?"

"What, Doctor?"

He bent down to her level, and smiled widely. "I loved it."

"Well, that's lovely, honey, but I really have no idea what you're talking about!"

"You… you don't?" he asked, looking carefully into her face. "Uh oh," he muttered.

"What are you talking about, my love?" she asked.

"Spoilers," he winked, stepping out of his trousers. "So, why are you so gloriously naked, my River?" he asked, his eyes lingering on her breasts.

She shrugged, making her way back to the bed, and sliding in. "Why not?"

Flicking his underpants off, quickly, he jumped into his side of the bed, and slid his arms around her, resting his forehead against hers. "Because you know how I so do love to take off your clothes myself?" he pouted, playfully.

"I'm sure I can find some way to make that up to you, dear," she whispered.

"Mm, I'm sure you can, too," he laughed, rolling on top of her and capturing her lips in his, as she wrapped her legs securely around his hips.


	8. Not much silence in the library

"Hello, Sweetie."

He sat up quickly, surprised, looking around for the source of the voice. He had not heard her arrive, much less walk up to him, as he lay on his back in the TARDIS library, reading the fourth Harry Potter book for what must have been the fifteenth time.

He caught sight of the hem of her long dress, disappearing into one of the many aisles of books. Throwing the book aside, he crawled forward a few metres, in the direction she had walked, before remembering something.

"Still got legs," he muttered. "Good." He stood up, dusting his hands and knees, before setting off at a quick pace towards the aisle where he had spied the hem of her dress. He reached the aisle quickly, and frowned when he didn't see her. _Oh, not another one of her pointless games_ , he thought wearily, as he trotted to the end of the aisle.

He looked right, and then left, and then right, and then something caught his eye. He frowned. There was something white lying on the floor about four aisles to his right. Curiosity spiked, he made his way quickly towards the object.

His frown turned to a smirk as he neared the white fabric. He stooped quickly, and picked up the white g-string, groaning as his hand closed around it. Wet. His smirk turned into a grin. _Maybe it's not a pointless game after all._

He took off at a run down the aisle next to where her pants had been left, shoving them hastily into the back pocket of his trousers, and then wrenching his tweed from his shoulders and throwing it to the side as he rounded the next corner, looking both ways for another clue as to where she was hiding.

Aha! He spotted a red, high-heeled shoe near the mouth of another row of books, and ran towards it, unhooking his suspenders and loosening his belt as he did. He dashed to the end of the aisle, and took a left, seeing a matching shoe lying there. How she had managed to sneak up on him in the quiet library, wearing high heels, was beyond his comprehension, but he suspended his disbelief in favour of finding her and giving her what he knew she wanted; what he needed, after having not seen her in months.

He untied his bowtie and the top few buttons of his shirt, as his body heat increased, simply from the thought of what he would do when he finally found her in this god-forsaken library. Again, he pushed the thought of other libraries and their significance for River, out of his head, as he dashed to the end of the aisle, and skidded to a halt, searching for another clue. He laughed fondly, when he caught sight of a white, lacy bra hanging from the corner of a shelf of books.

When he rounded the next corner, she was there, standing at the end of the aisle, wearing nothing but a long, thin, white dress that clung to her otherwise-naked body, and a seductive smile, as she watched him walk towards her casually, trying to hide that he had been running, his eyes darkened with lust.

When he finally reached her, he grabbed her roughly by the hips, and pushed her up against the nearest row of books. A smirk played on his lips, as he regarded her breasts; hard nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric of her dress. He looked up at her through his eyelashes. "Well, hello there, Doctor Song."

She pursed her lips playfully, and reached up to hook both arms around his neck, one leg curling around his, her bare foot tracing up the back of his calf, and pulling her hips towards his. She smirked, as she gently nudged the hardness in his pants with her hips. "Hello, Doctor."

He smiled, leaning forward and kissing her hungrily, until they were both out of breath. He trailed kisses down her neck, and freed her breasts from her low-cut dress, loving the way the dress framed them, pushing them forward, all perky and inviting. Greedily, he leant down and entrapped as much of her right breast in his mouth as he could, alternating between sucking and teasing its hard peak with his tongue. He switched, and did the same to the other, reaching down to tease her clit gently through her dress, enjoying the noises she made as he did.

He trailed kisses back up her neck, then pressed his forehead to hers. "That was a fun little game," he whispered, his lips grazing hers as he spoke.

"Mm, yes, it was rather, wasn't it, Sweetie," she winked, curling a bit of his hair around her finger, and resuming her stroking of his calf with her foot.

"But as - we're in - a Library - we're going to - have to - keep it - down," he whispered, between kisses along her jawline.

"And since when have you ever paid any attention to the rules, my love?" she whispered back, as she worked quickly at the buttons of his shirt.

He pulled back so he could see her whole face, and frowned at her, offended. "There's a first time for everything, you know!"

"Oh I know, Sweetie, but now is hardly the time to start obeying volume rules in a library, is it?"

She unbuttoned his trousers, and he let them fall to his feet. Pinning her to the bookshelf with his chest, he gathered the skirt of her long dress in his hands, bunching it at her thighs, then pulled her legs up so she could wrap them around his waist.

"And why not?" he asked mischievously, pulling his hard length free of his pants.

"Oh, you know how I scream," she grinned.

He touched his sensitive head lightly to her wet folds, and grinned as she grunted in surprise. She tightened her legs around his waist, so he inside her, but just barely, and he groaned, delighted at the feeling.

"Was that a challenge, Doctor Song?"

"Oh, definitely."

He thrust, then, and gasped at the sensation of being inside her. And they moved together, rocking against the shelf of books until he completed that challenge numerous times.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews, suggestions and feedback are appreciated!


End file.
